


The Fox's Dream

by midnightflame



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Familiars, Fox Wedding, Foxes, Kissing, Kitsune, Kosmo - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Mutual Pining, Pining, kitsune-tsukai, shrines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightflame/pseuds/midnightflame
Summary: Having lived for almost five-hundred years, Shiro thought he had settled on living a life outside of any ties to the human world. One day, however, he meets Keith, and finds his every desire challenged.“And what does some ten-year-old want with a white fox?”The boy pouts, his eyes blazing with a sudden flare of pride. “I’m not just some ten-year-old. I’m Keith, and I’m the son of the shrine master here!”Shiro lets out a low impressed whistle. Keith glares up at him.“I’m going to make that fox mine,” Keith states. Like it’s an inevitability, just like fall of civilizations or how night follows day and the human heart will always want something bigger than itself.  “No one has managed it yet. . .but I hear he’s really strong. . .”“And beautiful. . .” Shiro teases.Keith’s cheeks flare red.Shiro lets out another laugh, softer this time. “Well, I’ve heard that fox really like kitsune udon. But only when the moon is full.”
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 150
Collections: Sheith Reverse Big Bang 2019





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! And welcome to my piece for the Sheith Reverse Big Bang! My artist was the wonderful [Empathique](https://twitter.com/emisverysad), who requested Keith as a kitsune-tsukai (a fox witch) and Shiro as a fox! I hope you all enjoy this story [and its lovely artwork](https://twitter.com/emisverysad/status/1208252729165930496?s=20)!
> 
> And as always, feel free to come yell at me over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bymidnightflame)!

Sunset.

His favorite time of day. Right before the darkness declares its reign over the skies, when everyone knows it’s coming. Those night-crawling hours where the best and worst of all desires manifest. There’s a spot right at the top of a hill, where a small shrine sits crowded in by the woods, and from its final step, he can look out over the world and watch as the sun drowns under the press of evening. 

Usually, he would be alone. Today, however —

“What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for someone.”

Shiro feels his lips twist, uncertain what to make of this human child squatting over the second to last step leading into the shrine. He’s balanced somewhat precariously on the balls of his feet, knees tucked into his chest, and his gaze fixed on the forest running down along the stairway. A good blow of wind is all it would take to send him tumbling down, Shiro thinks. 

Fragile things. Human children, that is. 

Even if this one smells rather peculiar. Shiro chalks that up to him being the shrine priest’s son. The priest himself is a curious, if not entirely too likable, figure. A half-breed they had called him as a child, though the term is nothing like what it means to Shiro. Then again, there’s much that humans don’t know about this world and the ones beyond...what Shiro had discerned back then was that this kid’s father was half-American and half-Japanese, and for some reason, he had ended up being raised by the former head priest of this shrine.

And now that half-breed had a son of his own. 

“And who are you waiting for?” Shiro asks, staring down at the child. 

The boy scoffs, not even bothering to look up at him. “I don’t have to tell you that, old man.”

“Old man?! Hey now, kid. . .I’m not that old!”

“You have white hair. . .you’re old.”

Shiro exhales, and with it, his exasperation flees with the sound. What is he doing here, standing around arguing with a child while the sun is setting? There are more important things in life than the thoughts of a human barely old enough to scrape together his feelings much less compare to the breadth of Shiro's own life. 

Such as enjoying the red splashed across the sky like the sun’s last arterial line had been cut. Bleeding daylight out all over the horizon as if in proof of its own existence, now fading. 

The child looks up at him, a smirk planted over his lips, and his eyes positively alight with defiance. 

His left eyebrow twitching, Shiro forces a breath out through his teeth. Careful not to draw attention to his pointed canines, he gives the boy a tight smile and asks, “Do I look old to you?”

The boy scrunches up his nose. Shiro watches as several thoughts seem to slip through his gaze like minnows darting about in a stream. One passing the other until eventually all are lost. Something else flickers in the boy’s eyes, and it’s only then that Shiro notices it, the way his irises change color with the setting of the sun. Bluish-gray to purple. The shift has him blinking in surprise.

This boy. . .

A faint blush rising on his cheeks, the boy bites down on his lower lip lightly. He glances up at Shiro again before quickly turning his head back in the direction of the forest. Chin jutting out, the perfect picture of petulance, he breathes out, nostrils flaring slightly.

“No. . .you’re pretty. . .actually.”

Shiro chuckles at that as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket. He’d seen its design on a billboard during his travels and had liked it enough to have one made for himself. In black, naturally. It had proven quite comfortable in the early fall wind.

“Pretty, huh?” he muses, a smirk hooking the right corner of his mouth.

The boy purses his lips. He refuses to look at Shiro when he speaks again.

“The fox won’t come if you keep hanging around here!”

A fox, he says. The smirk digs in deeper as he leans over, throwing the boy in his shadow. 

“You’re waiting for a fox?”

With a nod, the boy starts dragging his index finger across his knees, smoothing out a wrinkle in his yukata. It’s a deep orange-red, like the setting sun. Shiro belatedly notes the small foxes running across its hem, their fluffy tails tipped in white, each with a silver key in its mouth. Clearly a custom job, carefully crafted. 

“Dad says there’s this really beautiful big white fox that hangs around here. But he won’t come to us like the others," the boy explains, his nose wrinkling. He purses his lips again, his brow knitting together, and yet despite being the image of frustration, there’s a sadness in his voice that Shiro finds hard to shake. “Why does he even hang around then. . .?”

Shiro lets out a soft hum and flicks his gaze toward the horizon. The sun has almost finished setting. “Probably because of that old woman’s fried tofu. . .”

“Hunk’s grandmother?” the boy asks, tilting his head in Shiro’s direction. 

Hunk. The child that's always helping the old woman out. “So, that’s the kid’s name. . .”

“You know him?”

“No. . .not really.”

“Oh. . .” the boy breathes out, disappointment staining the sound. He recovers a moment later, his head now tipped back so he can stare directly up at Shiro once again. “How did you get that scar?”

“This one?” Shiro drags a hand out of his pocket and rubs the bridge of his nose. “That happened a long time ago. . .”

“So, you are an old-timer. . .” the boy says, a laugh following in the wake of his words. It’s not unkind in its sound, but rather, carries a warmth that makes Shiro’s heart ache in a way it hasn’t for decades.

As if in an effort to erase that feeling in his chest, Shiro laughs as well. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to look twenty-six. . .”

“Old,” the boy snorts.

Shiro clicks his tongue, but when he glances down at the boy, he can’t help but smile. “And just how old are you?”

“Ten. . .”

“And what does some ten-year-old want with a big white fox?”

The boy pouts, his eyes blazing with a sudden flare of pride. “I’m not just some ten-year-old. I’m Keith, and I’m the son of the shrine master here!”

Shiro lets out a low impressed whistle. Keith glares up at him.

“I’m going to make that fox mine,” Keith states. Like it’s an inevitability, just like fall of civilizations or how night follows day and the human heart will always want something bigger than itself. “No one has managed it yet, but I hear he’s really strong. . .”

“And beautiful. . .” Shiro teases.

Keith’s cheeks burn a vivid, honest red. 

Shiro lets out another laugh, softer this time. “Well, I’ve heard that fox really like _kitsune_ udon. But only when the moon is full.”

As if forgetting his embarrassment, Keith stares up at Shiro with wide, grateful eyes. “Will he eat _inarizushi_?”

Shiro rubs his chin, thoughtful for a moment as he considers that option. “That’s not bad either, I guess.”

Keith lets out a small huff, his mouth pulling wide with a smile. “Thanks, old-timer.”

“It’s Shiro,” he corrects, resisting the urge to ruffle the boy’s hair. It’s thick and black and looks terribly soft. It’s almost a complete mess, giving Keith a wild look about him that doesn’t exactly displease him. Almost like Keith truly belongs to this shrine.

“All right, Shiro. . .I guess you like foxes, huh?”

“Yeah. . .I guess you could say that.”


	2. Love Doesn't Take A Day

“How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?” 

Shiro gestures toward the suit coat draped over the back of the couch, then flicks his fingers over to where Keith stands, tugging at the plum-colored tie around his neck. “Graduating into the real world.”

Keith’s fingers still around the knot of his tie, his lips pull to a flat line, and the stare he levels at Shiro would be enough to silence even a toddler overdosed on sugar. He lets out a soft scoff, then starts in on his tie again until its ends are hanging loose against his chest. After that, he pops open the first two buttons of his dress shirt and lets out a satisfied sigh.

The laugh Shiro releases at the sight draws Keith’s attention right back to him. He’s smiling, though, this small sort of smile where the emotion sits completely bare over it. Then again, whenever Keith feels relaxed, he never can hide his feelings. It’s something Shiro had come to like about him — that honesty that was so often distorted in humanity. 

The adults, at least. 

Children, he had found, were surprisingly shameless in their truths. Which, perhaps, explains why he is sitting here, on some worn-out couch in a tiny Tokyo apartment, over a hundred miles away from the shrine he has called home for the better part of three-hundred years. 

Not that he has many complaints about his current situation or the company for that matter. Tokyo, for all its hustle and bustle, proves to be about as amusing as any _yokai_ town he’s known in his lifetime. In some ways, it’s far more entertaining, but maybe he owes that to Keith. 

“Graduating doesn’t change anything for me,” Keith says as he plops down onto the couch beside Shiro. He lets out another sigh and tilts his head back against the cushions. His hair remains carefully slicked back, curated in a way that makes him presentable despite the lack of presentation apparently needed for these sorts of ceremonies. At least, that’s the information that had found its way to Shiro when he had inquired about the whole ordeal and what it meant to “graduate” in today’s age.

“This is supposed to make you an adult now, isn’t it?” Shiro asks. He doesn’t bother to disguise the tease in his voice.

A tease Keith answers by kicking his foot against Shiro’s ankle. “That was technically my Coming of Age Day.”

“So many ceremonies. . .”

“You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

Shiro rubs at his chin, feigning thoughtfulness. He hums out softly as Keith remains silent beside him, then allows himself a moment to craft a grin, slow to form but potent in its wickedness. “The boy who almost got himself kicked out of class on several occasions and put his graduation in jeopardy for —”

Bolting upright, Keith points an accusing finger at him. “You had no business being in my classes, Shiro!” 

He shrugs off the accusation, the grin still relentlessly claiming his mouth. “I got bored.”

“And who was it that said Tokyo had plenty of fun to offer him?!”

“It is fun. . .”

Keith huffs out and crosses his arms over his chest as he sinks back into the couch. “Just couldn’t keep yourself away from me, huh?”

Shiro almost misses it, that cutthroat smirk peeking out from the corner of Keith’s lips. He swears inwardly at himself. How could he forget just how accurate Keith could be with his strikes when he made them? He blinks, the smirk wavering though not completely knocked from its place. But he’s had practice in that sort of thing: maintaining the illusion of control. Inside though? His heart feels more like a sledgehammer against his ribs, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d swear it would only be a matter of seconds before it lay beating there on the couch cushions between them.

Closing his eyes, Shiro softens his smirk into a relenting smile. “Who was the one who said he wanted the white fox all to himself?”

This time, it’s Keith’s smirk standing on the verge of crumbling. He scrunches his nose, baring a sliver of teeth, then snorts out, “I was a kid when I said that.”

“Does nineteen still count as a kid?”

“That time doesn’t count. . .”

“Oh?” Shiro draws out the sound, giving it a quiet, musing edge. Just enough of one to earn him a twitch of Keith’s right eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“You know why,” Keith mutters.

“Because you can’t hold your liquor?”

“Would you shut up already?!” Keith exclaims. In his hands, he has one of the vibrant red pillows they keep piled up at the ends of the couch. It had become _a thing_ when Keith’s mother had commented on how “horridly soulless” Keith’s apartment had seemed when he had sent his father pictures of the place. Rather than making a tasteful selection of two or three, Keith had ended up with six pillows, a variety of shades from apple red to burnt orange, and a terrible clash of color on their gray couch. What was it that Keith’s friend, Lance, had said about it?

_Like Hell vomited up a clown’s corpse in your living room._

Keith had obstinately insisted the couch and its embellishments remain unchanged after that. 

The pillow lands squarely against Shiro chest. As Shiro pushes it to the side, he catches the way Keith’s cheeks flare a brilliant red, how his eyes are impossibly purple. All of it stills the storm raging inside of him. The clamor of his thoughts trickles down to a babble of sound, faint as a mountain creek in midsummer. Where his heart has made off to, he doesn’t know. The only thing he can do is smile stupidly at the man sitting beside him, looking something more than human, and yet all too human and far too entirely beautiful.

“Maybe fox wine would suit you better.”

Keith blinks over at him. His cheeks still burn a fiery red, but the fury of his embarrassment has begun to retreat. “Why would that be any better?”

Shiro hums again softly. It’s an effort to buy himself a little time, to sort through his thoughts and give Keith a chance to arrive at the answer himself. When nothing else appears to be coming, Shiro finally says, “Because of who you are.”

“A _kitsune-tsukai_?”

“No,” Shiro states, then corrects himself. “Not entirely. Though, I’m sure your familiar is missing you.”

“I couldn’t exactly have a wolf around my campus like that.”

“You have me.”

“I don’t.” Keith practically spits those words out, a touch of frustration adding heat to them. He immediately clamps his lips shut, but his eyes have gone wide, and they tell Shiro everything. 

Mostly about how much Keith still regrets that fact. 

“It’s true,” Shiro murmurs, “that I’m not bound to you. But that’s —”

“You never belong to anyone!” Keith curls his hand around the edge of another pillow. Brow furrowed, he stares pointedly down at his lap. All the while, his hand keeps gripping the pillow tighter and tighter until Shiro’s certain Keith must be able to feel his fingertips through the fabric on the opposite side. “My dad said you’ve refused everyone at the shrine for decades. . .”

It’s a lie, Shiro thinks, but he could never tell Keith that. How at one time he had belonged to someone, locked into a pact with them centuries ago, not fully knowing what it would entail, and how it all went horribly wrong. He resists the urge to touch his scar, and instead, exhales slowly.

“If I had agreed to be your familiar, I wouldn’t be here now.”

“That’s —!” Keith starts, body jerking in response to that simple truth. Seconds later, his expression begins to soften into something that feels less like a dagger in Shiro’s heart and more like a torch lit inside one of its chambers. Turning his gaze to the side, Keith lets go of the pillow and pushes himself up from the couch. “I know. . .”

“Do you?” Shiro asks, his voice low but tone uncompromising. 

Keith’s head drops a little lower, chin almost to his chest, but his hands have once more balled into fists against his sides. He doesn’t look back at Shiro when he replies, “I know that you like your freedom, Shiro. Just like I know you love kitsune udon under a full moon, and the constellations of the summer night sky, and that even if you aren’t mine, you’ll always call the shrine home. . .”

_That’s still not it_. It’s the first thought that flashes through his head, like tail lights flickering bright within a midnight storm. Even so, he forces himself to smile, knowing full well just how genuine he can make it seem. 

“There’s something that I love about that shrine if that’s what you’re saying.”

Keith nods, and there’s a shadow of a smile over his lips. “It was made for you foxes. . .of course, you love it.”

Again, it’s all wrong even as it’s completely right, but Shiro can’t tell Keith that. Just like he hasn’t been able to tell him a lot of things. He lets that knowledge sit there like an acorn cap stuck between his paw pads, irritating and a little painful. Something he could easily dislodge if he just took the time.

“It’s okay, you know,” Keith continues. He’s started back in on his tie, tugging it from around his neck and laying it down over his jacket. Even in that, he’s considerate, placing it down so that it rests in an even line, not a wrinkle in its surface. “As long as you’re coming back with me. . .”

Shiro lets out a soft, genuinely amused laugh at that. “Who else would I be going home with?”

That smirk, as sharp and clean as the corners of a _gohei_ ’s streamer, returns to Keith’s lips. He offers Shiro a shrug, then gives a wave of his hand as he disappears toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower. We have to be up early tomorrow if we want to catch the train home.”

All Shiro can do is watch as Keith falls out of his line of sight, a different sort of ache haunting his chest.

*

Dawn has barely broken over the horizon, a pale light turning the sky pink, as they stand on the platform waiting to board the train. Elbow bumping up against him, Keith shifts his weight from foot to foot, a beaten-up black duffle bag with a faded Nike logo in white at his feet. On top of that is a small messenger bag. Shiro keeps tracing the lines of the red fox patch Keith had meticulously ironed onto it before he had left for college. The red bandana around its neck nearly mimics the scarf Shiro has wrapped around his own.

In Keith’s right hand, he holds one ticket. The left clutches his own scarf, which he has refused to put on, stating he was already too warm. Shiro had lifted an eyebrow at that, though he knew better than to argue the point — even if he can see the goosebumps marching over Keith’s forearms, like some army of frozen warriors ready to invade his insides.

Shiro exhales, smiling beneath the curve of his scarf. “Which do you think will happen first,” he asks, “you freezing here on this platform or the train’s departure?”

Keith scowls, but he doesn’t turn to face him. Instead, he keeps his eyes fixed on the space just in front of the train, where an attendant is clearing something from the tracks. 

“I’m not putting it on, Shiro.”

“You know, they say body heat is a great way to warm someone up.”

“You’re not going to. . .never mind!” Keith mutters, dropping his equally as red scarf over the top of his messenger bag. 

“Oh, it wasn’t going to be me. I was just thinking how fortunate you are that there are other humans on the train this morning.”

He knows he’s pushing limits this early in the day, but Shiro also knows that Keith can be as immovable as the gods sometimes and over the stupidest of matters as well. What sort of bravado he thought he would be showing by denying himself warmth on this chilly March morning. . .well, Shiro doesn’t really have an answer to that. He does, however, find it odd that Keith’s cheeks seem to be as red as their scarves at this moment. 

“That’s not funny, Shiro.”

“Well, it’s not like I could be the one to. . .”

A frown makes a twisted mess of Keith’s mouth, one Shiro finds impossibly cute. He tucks the image away, among so many others he’s classified as worth remembering. Keith, for all his reservedness, could be terribly beautiful in his expressions. Shiro doesn’t know yet if this is going to be some sort of downfall of his, as it can so often be for his kind, but there's a part of him that just naturally aligns itself to Keith. Sort of like the universe coming together, each planet finding its perfect orbit, the stars slotting into their necessary places so people could make stories out their designs and find something worth wishing for.

Maybe it simply is that inevitable, that lure of certain humans. 

Fortunately, he’s had centuries to adjust to their pull, even if Keith’s allure is something different. Those things that set him apart from the others, however, are things Shiro isn’t willing to dissect down until he understands them better. Rather, he keeps them in their meticulously curated enclosures, knowing full well they exist within him, as part of him, but never lets them loose to make of him what they would. 

“C’mon.” Whatever Keith was going to say gets overrun, though his eyes have that nebulous sort of haze to them that turns his irises a deeper bluish-gray. It always reminds Shiro of the first push of night against the dying day, those in-between hours where one battle is won while another is lost.

Keith kicks his head toward the train, where the doors have opened, and the few passengers embarking at that hour are already boarding. Shiro follows without a word, suppressing the urge to help Keith with his bags. 

“Traveling by yourself?” 

Shiro tips his head in the direction of the attendant, who is smiling over at Keith in that nondescript way most service industry workers use. An innocuous question, though Keith furrows his brow as if needing to truly consider it. After a moment, he sighs. His eyelids flutter closed briefly, and again Shiro finds his heart designating this yet another image worth remembering. 

“Yeah, just one. . .” Keith replies.

The attendant nods then gestures for him to board the train. Shiro follows with a backward glance at the man, who looks back at Keith with his lips slightly parted, confusion muddled in his gaze. He shakes his head and murmurs something to himself. Whatever it was, Keith doesn’t seem to hear, too preoccupied with looking for a seat. He eventually finds one, taking the one by the window and setting his belongings on the opposite side. 

“What are you grinning about?” Keith murmurs. He’s made himself busy, or enough to give the appearance of it, by digging into his messenger bag for a bottle of green tea.

Shiro shrugs. “Nothing. . .”

“What did you do, Shiro?”

“Nothing!”

“Is that so?” Keith’s voice has gone completely flat, and as he looks beside him, where Shiro has taken the other seat, his expression shows just how clearly unconvinced he is by Shiro’s adamant denial.

It’s not like he had really done anything. Just. . . 

“Your ears are out.”

Shiro flicks them back and forth, grin idling over his lips. “So, they are.”

“You flicked one of your tails against him, didn’t you?”

Shiro shrugs. “I don’t see a tail out.”

“Uh-huh.” Keith shakes his head, but despite his apparent disapproval, there’s a smile coaxing the corners of his mouth upward. As though to hide the gesture, Keith plants his chin against his palm and stares out at the mostly emptied station platform. “Shouldn’t you have grown out of that by now?”

“Grown out of what?”

“Playing tricks. . .”

“Well, I am a fox.”

“An almost five-hundred-year-old one.”

“Are you calling me old again?”

“I don’t know, Shiro, are you old?”

Shiro huffs out at that, his ears twitching in his amusement. “Pretty sure I still look like a twenty-six-year-old human.”

“Old man,” Keith snorts with a laugh.

“Old, huh? So, does being in your twenties now means you no longer find me beautiful?” Shiro prods, his grin growing as Keith’s cheeks start to flare red again. “Or what was it . . . _pretty_?”

Keith turns on him, eyes flashing and cheeks as red as the sunrise, and it takes the absolute breath out of Shiro. He completely forgets that he had even been teasing him, his lips softening their curve for a brief moment as his heart tumbles off into some nameless place that’s full of warmth and other things Shiro wishes he didn’t feel. Whatever retort Keith had set for him dies a quick death, however, as a group of tourists files into the train, chattering loudly in a language far more guttural than his own.

German, maybe, Shiro thinks.

Whoever they are, they look set to tackle the mountain trails with all the enthusiasm of a grade-schooler who has just been granted the rare freedom of a snow day. 

Time to get out and play. . .

“If you haven’t changed in all this time, then you know you’re just as good looking now as you were then,” Keith finally retorts. He refuses to look at Shiro, though, and instead fixates on whatever else he has in his messenger bag. Which isn’t a whole lot considering Shiro had watched him pack it that morning. A few snack bars, a bottle of water along with the tea, whatever mail Keith hadn’t managed to open that week, and a paperback book detailing the heroic efforts of some ragtag group of teens trying to save themselves during a zombie apocalypse. 

Shiro found it amusing that Keith’s recent tastes in entertainment had veered rather sharply towards surviving the end of the world. Alien invasions, post-apocalyptic warfare, vampires enslaving humanity. . . the zombies seemed to be his favorite, though. He always looks particularly put out whenever he encounters a storyline involving the best friend or lover or some otherwise heart-strung being that found themselves bitten and irreversibly changed. 

_”There should be a cure,” Keith had argued._ On the television screen at that time, a rather tearful exchange had been happening between a college kid and his girlfriend, who had just discovered a bite wound to her thigh. 

Shiro had watched him then, the furrow deep-set in Keith’s brow and his lips a resolute line.

_”I would have saved them,” Keith said._ The girlfriend was begging the boy to end her life before she changed into something ‘not beautiful.’ And as to be expected, the boyfriend was arguing she would always be so to him. Forever beautiful. The only true love of his life. 

It was all quite predictable, but Shiro thought a lot of humanity was by this point. He had laughed in response, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Keith. _”It wouldn’t be the zombie apocalypse if no one died.”_

_“I’d save you. . .no matter what it took.”_

It’s impossible to forget lines like that. Even now, Shiro can still hear them echoing in his head. Along with his own response. _“Considering I’m a fox, I don’t think I qualify as human enough to go turning zombie on anyone. Good thing Japan is rabies-free, though, huh?”_

Keith had snorted at that. Seconds later, Keith’s head had found Shiro’s thigh, and they had watched the rest of the film play to its ambiguously hopeful ending as the lead character walked into a compound of survivors. The girlfriend’s hair ribbon had been tied around his wrist, a stark and far too pristine red for all the grime coating his hands. 

It had been strangely beautiful.

“You still find me pretty, is that it?” Shiro teases. 

Without a glance, Keith pokes an index finger into Shiro’s thigh, then grabs his scarf and curls it around his neck for the added layer of protection it offers. As much as Keith might think it hides his blush, Shiro can still see the light pink along his cheekbones. But it’s his reflection in the window that tells Shiro more: the flickering of emotions in his eyes like a kaleidoscope spinning through its colors. There are things in Keith’s gaze that Shiro wants terribly to name and yet refuses to do so. But they catch on his heart, another memory to be formed and shuttled later for his mind to file. 

With its scant amount of passengers settled, the train finally pulls out of the station. The city starts to fly by, apartment complexes with their balconies full of plants or clothing lines half-empty. It’s supposed to be a sunny, albeit slightly chilly day. Perfect March weather if there is such a thing. 

There are relatively few stops planned. Most of them occur closer to the city, stacked almost on top of each other it feels, but the further they progress from its outskirts, the greater the distance between them becomes. They’ll have one transfer to get to Keith’s hometown. Then, a twenty-minute walk to the shrine. 

Most of the time, Keith chooses to walk it, preferring more time out in nature than cramped in another vehicle. Not that the walk is through the forest or anything of the like. But the houses are larger out there, with only a few low-level apartment complexes closer to the town center. There’s a decent network of sidewalks, all of which Shiro has memorized. Sometimes, Keith will ask him to devise a new route as they run one errand or another for his father. 

On a few occasions, Shiro has taken that a little farther than necessary, especially with a younger Keith. Trails through the woods that only he ever really traveled, always in his fox form. Ones Keith was still small enough to navigate along with him. Eventually, Keith started to get a little more vocal about Shiro’s choices. It was around the time he hit high school. A lot of things began to change around then, though. 

“You want to stop by that ramen place before catching the next train?”

Shiro blinks, his ears twisting in Keith’s direction. He’s still sitting there, staring out the window, but Shiro can tell Keith is now watching him through the window’s reflection. 

“If we miss the connection, it won’t come again until the evening,” Shiro replies. 

“We have an hour. I think that should be plenty of time unless you plan on ordering twenty bowls or something.”

“I don’t eat that much.”

Keith finally looks over at him, his right eyebrow arched delicately. It certainly makes for a pretty picture, but Shiro feels it like a personal attack, carefully plotted just for him and meant to hit on multiple levels. No escape. The indignity of potentially being called out is quickly overridden by the small smirk that curves the corner of Keith’s mouth. Shiro exhales, starts to say something, then closes his lips only for them to pop back open a second later as that smirk on Keith's lips starts to deepen. 

The final hit. 

Shiro knows he’s blushing, that his ears have gone flat, and that he wants desperately to do so many things to that smirk that it makes his head hurt and his heart plummet off some emotional cliff, hoping never to be found again. 

“They have _inarizushi_ there,” Keith says quietly. His expression has changed, his eyebrow now drawn together, his lips slightly parted in the wake of his words. “I know it’s not Hunk’s stuff, but you always seem to enjoy it.”

Shiro lets out a small laugh. A weak thing, thoroughly defeated by this man in front of him, and yet sweet sounding. Because there are some losses that are well worth taking. 

“I won’t order twenty bowls,” Shiro promises.

Keith shakes his head, his laughter coiled tight on his tongue. Even if he can’t hear it, Shiro knows that look, and he knows just how beautiful that laughter can be. 

He also knows that Keith may be more demon than he looks. How could anyone be so unaware of just how radiant they were?

*

They arrive at their transfer point with no more tricks from Shiro. Much to Keith’s relief. The train attendant still gave him a funny look as he departed the train, however, glancing around him as Shiro alighted as if expecting another haunting to brush by him in Keith’s wake. Seeming to chalk the experience up to his imagination, he wished Keith safe travels.

In the window of the ticket booth, an analog clock hangs facing outward. The second hand continues to tick away silently, judging nothing and no one, just as time always does. It’s five minutes past ten, and as Keith had stated, they have another hour before the arrival of their next train. 

“Ramen?” Keith asks, as he shoulders his messenger bag. He checks around him, counting to make sure he has everything with him, then lifts the duffle bag he had left sitting by his right leg.

Shiro nods. “I can meet you in there.”

“All right. I’ll swing by the bathroom first,” Keith says. He doesn’t leave immediately, however, and instead stands there staring at Shiro for a moment, his lips pursed together. After another moment of contemplation, he adds, “Don’t forget to hide your ears.”

Shiro barks out a laugh at that. A cluster of elderly women, all huddled together like pigeons around a discarded bagel, immediately fall to silence and look over in Keith’s direction. The judgement in their eyes borders on scathing. He scowls, glaring accusingly at Shiro, before he turns toward the corner where the station attendant had indicated the bathrooms were. Tucking his scarf up around his neck, so that lower portion of his face is obscured, Keith trudges off toward it without so much as a backward glance at Shiro. 

Perhaps that was a bit unfair of him, but if he’s supposed to feel guilty over it, Shiro finds no trace of the sentiment within him. Rather, there’s a certain sort of fondness that wells up within him as he watches Keith disappear into the bathroom. That, too, has changed over the years, and it caught him off guard. The way the same sort of feeling could shift over time. Far too quickly, he had thought, even if in the grand play that is a human’s life, he knows a decade is considered a long passage of time. For a time, though, it had been as if his emotions had shifted over the course of a day, prey to some fickle trick of the wind. One minute, he’s looking at Keith with all the fondness he had had for the young foxes just learning their supernatural skills and the next. . .

With a shake his head, Shiro starts walking to the street-side entrance of the station. The town they’ve stopped in isn’t large, but it has winding streets that traverse the hilly landscape that he loves. It’s a popular stop if only for the _ryokan_ that sits on its outskirts. What Shiro enjoys most about the town are the cherry blossoms in the spring, when they turn the cobbled side-streets pink, and the small ramen shop a block away from the station. 

He takes his time walking there, waiting until a group of teenagers approaches him. As they skirt around him, he allows himself to take on visible form, his ears seeming to dissolve, as if being erased pixel by pixel. It takes only a few words to undo the charm that had rendered him unreadable by human eyes. A rather bold move, if he's honest about it, because there are still humans like Keith and other _yokai_ Irasshai!”

Shiro smiles at the old man behind the counter. He hadn’t even looked up, only responded to the quiet tinkle of the bell on the door. The same as always. A few patrons fill the place. Most of them are crowded around the end of the bar, while the rare table, mostly two-seaters pressed tightly up against the walls, remains completely empty. It’s a decent showing considering the hour. Though, if he had been asked, Shiro preferred the times when he had come in to a dead-empty place. During those hours, the ramen bar seemed to straddle the human and _yokai_ realms, and it ended up feeling a little bit more like home. 

Taking a seat at the bar, Shiro grabs one of the laminated menus and starts perusing it. He already knows what he wants, just as he knows exactly what Keith will order. But he waits, asking only for a cup of green tea for him and Keith. As hot as the old man can make it. That earns him a gruff laugh, followed by a threat-empty complaint that has Shiro grinning.

“Were you waiting long?” Keith slips into the seat beside him, a little breathless. His nose and cheeks are red from the cold, and Shiro has to suppress the irritatingly insistent desire to lick them. 

“Just got here,” he replies as he hands over the menu to Keith. 

“Shoyu. Chicken. . .extra egg. . .chili oil. No mushrooms.” Keith doesn’t even look at the menu.

The old man nods along with him, then briefly glances up at Shiro, indicating that now is the time to place his order.

“Shio with roasted pork. Extra pork belly. Extra noodles. And two orders of _inarizushi_.”

A snort erupts out of Keith. He quickly pulls a hand to cover his mouth as another burst of would-be laughter rushes out of him. The old man just continues nodding, not even losing a beat behind the counter as he continues to fill orders. His movements are streamlined, an endless looping of actions ingrained by years of cooking. Shiro usually enjoyed watching him work, but his attention, instead, is pulled by Keith and his stifled outburst. 

Keith glances over at him, then fixes his attention back on the menu in front of him. His cheeks are redder than when he first entered the restaurant, and even with his mouth half-hidden by his hand, Shiro can still make out the presence of a smile. With a resigned huff and a smile of his own, Shiro reaches up for the two cups of tea set on the counter and places one in front of Keith. 

“Does this mean I need to get you a ticket for the rest of the ride?” Keith asks, his voice strung out by his barely restrained laughter. 

Shiro doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he curls his hands around his cup and lets the heat sink into his skin. Then, slow as a snake uncoiling itself in the cold, a smirk starts to tug on his lips. He flicks a glance in Keith’s direction, catching his gaze briefly, only to return his attention to his hands. The earthy scent of the tea wafts up to him. “It’s not twenty orders,” Shiro replies smoothly before taking a sip. 

Keith chokes on a laugh. He glares over at Shiro, who replies with a smooth smile and a glint of amusement in his eyes. In the few minutes it takes for their orders to be made, Keith manages to get himself back under some semblance of control. Though, he doesn’t spare Shiro the occasional glare, each one growing less and less meaningful until Shiro knows it’s more of a reflex reaction than a genuine article of irritation. 

As their bowls are set before them, Keith looks over at him again. This time, his gaze lingers on Shiro, as if trying to figure out just how real Shiro is. Like Shiro might up and dissipate on him just like the steam from their bowls. It’s a look Shiro has seen before, and each time he sees it, it makes his heart want to jump out of his chest and into Keith’s, just to prove it’s still beating, and still there, and still. . .Clearing his throat, Shiro pokes at one of the pork pieces laid artfully across the top of his ramen. 

“I’m not going to disappear on you again. . .”

He says it quietly. Just for Keith. 

Beside him, Keith says nothing. Instead, he picks up his chopsticks, breaking them apart and rubs them vigorously together. He doesn’t go for his ramen first, however, but reaches out and steals one of the pieces of _inarizushi_ from the plates set in front of Shiro. He bites into it, then rubs at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Keith says, his voice a soft, fragile thing that refuses to break.

They eat in silence for several minutes. Keith occasionally steals another piece of fried tofu, and Shiro simply lets him. No complaints. Only that aching fondness growing stronger in his chest. 

“When I get there, I’m going to need to go to the back of the shrine. I’ll drop off my things first in my room. . .”

Shiro bobs his head, acknowledging Keith’s plan. It’s one he had already anticipated. He won’t see Keith for several hours once the ritual starts. And as he’s not one of Keith’s familiars, he can’t be present for it either. During such a time. . .he can’t blame Keith for being concerned about him departing. But, it’s not like he had intended to disappear the last time either. 

Keith had found him, though. 

The power he has as a _kitsune-tsukai_ is almost frightening when Shiro really thinks about it. Exciting, too. To see someone with Keith’s abilities, with the sort of heart he has. 

“Maybe I’ll grab some stuff from the old woman’s place,” Shiro says after swallowing down a piece of pork belly. “I haven’t had any since Christmas. Want me to bring you any?”

Keith shakes his head. “You can bring some for Kosmo, though. I know he likes her stuff too.”

“Should I bring you anything else?”

Keith shakes his head again. Before Shiro can say anything more, Keith tips his bowl up to drink down the rest of the broth. As he places the bowl back on the counter, his movements almost reverent, he thanks the old man for his meal. 

“I’m gonna go grab you a ticket. Don’t miss the train, Shiro.”

*

They arrive at the shine a little after two-thirty. It’s exactly as Shiro remembers it, save for the covering of snow, and as the familiar scents hit him, some part of him he hadn’t known was wrapped up in tension finally starts to relax. As much as he hates to admit it sometimes, the shrine and its surrounding woods, even the small town, has become more home to him than any other place he has known in his life.

Keith takes the steps to the shrine two at a time, leading the way up. Shiro takes them just as easily but lags purposfully behind Keith. If only to enjoy the way he moves up them. A far cry from the child he had met all those years ago. Still just as defiant at times. 

Still calling him pretty. 

Tucking his hands into his jacket pockets, Shiro passes the last of the steps and finds himself facing the two stone fox guardians. They sit on either side of the entrance, red silk rope looped loosely around their necks. Two golden bells hang from each rope, both resting silently against their chests. Not a single stray leaf clutters the statues. 

Keith is already moving toward the house tucked away behind the main shrine. It’s a rather small building but undeniably homey. Shiro remembers always feeling warm inside its walls. A place untouched by fear. That’s what it reminded him of. In some ways, it felt like the holiest place on all of the shrine’s grounds. 

“Keith?”

A pause in Keith’s steps as his father’s voice rings out across the inner courtyard. Any reply given, however, is drowned out by a chorus of loud barks, each one growing louder than the first. As his father steps out of another smaller building to the left of the main shrine (a place for Keith’s father to consult with those who needed him — despite the growing lack of belief in _yokai_ there were still plenty who sought out Keith’s father for their help with supernatural problems), another creature comes barreling out past him. It launches itself at Keith with all the frenetic energy of a shooting star. 

In the span of a heartbeat, Keith has dropped his duffle bag and opened his arms. The beast launches itself into them, tail wagging and a plaintive whine filling the air. 

“Kosmo! How many times have I told you you’re too big to be doing this?!”

Despite the reprimand, Keith starts laughing as he buries his head into the wolf-like creature’s white fur.

“I still don’t get how a _kitsune-tsukai_ managed to make a familiar out of an _okuri-inu_ , but there’s no denying that wolf loves him,” Keith’s father says. He shakes his head, but he looks about as proud as any man could be of their son. “How was the trip, Shiro?”

“The usual. Nothing too exciting.”

“He spent most of it making the train attendants second guess their sanity,” Keith calls out.

Keith’s father lifts an eyebrow in question as he glances over at Shiro, but the smile he harbors says he wants to ask about the details instead of chiding him. “I’m sure they were none too pleased with that.”

Shiro chuckles and shrugs his shoulders. “Had to do something to pass the time that early in the morning. . .”

“It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Pops.”

When he had started calling Keith’s father that, Pops, Shiro doesn’t really remember. He had known the man by his nickname “Tex” well before he had ever learned his real name. The previous shine master had called him Daisuke, but the other shrine attendants had taken to using the nickname. Supposedly, his own father had been a man from America. Whether or not he had actually come from Texas or not remains a mystery to this day. What Shiro does know is that his mother had shown up here with him one day, no father in sight, and she had left without her son that night. He still doesn’t know the entire story, but he hasn’t yet shaken the smell of the curse that had embedded itself so deeply in the woman that her very bones reeked of it. 

At some point, though, Shiro had started calling him ‘Pops.’ Keith’s father had seemed unusually happy the first time the nickname had slipped from Shiro’s lips, and maybe it’s for that reason alone that Shiro has continued to call him by it. 

Keith walks over to them, Kosmo still in his arms. The wolf is as large as a small horse, with thick white fur and red markings across his face and the tips of his tails. Shiro remembers him as a little pup, ferocious as all young things tend to be when left to fend for themselves well before they should ever have to. He had stalked Keith on multiple occasions when he had roamed the woods surrounding the shrine until Keith simply got fed up with it and called out to him. 

Under Keith’s care, Kosmo's dark fur had started to turn white, and his markings took those of the celestial fox messengers of the shrine. Keith’s father says it’s the blessing of Inari, even if Kosmo isn’t technically a fox. Though, Shiro imagines anyone trying to convince Kosmo of that would have had an easier time talking a brick back into mud. He’s even taken to sporting nine tails, just like Shiro. The reason for that. . .

“How’s it going, dad?” Keith asks, craning his head around Kosmo’s shoulder. 

“I was gonna say I missed you and all, but it looks like Kosmo here has me beat!” his father laughs.

Just like Keith, his father’s laugh has a comforting warmth to it when he’s genuinely happy. If Shiro hadn’t put his own tails into hiding, they’d be wagging behind him right now. 

“I missed you too,” Keith says anyway.

The way his father lights up at that makes Shiro’s heart forget itself again, several beats feeling like they’ve run headlong into the other and making a general mess of his chest. 

“All right, it’s time for you to get down,” Keith continues, his attention on Kosmo. He stares the wolf directly in the face, lips pursing as Kosmo woofs quietly in protest. “You’re way too big for me to be carrying you around like a pup.”

Kosmo whines, his actual tail thumping pathetically against Keith’s thigh. The other eight remain as still as before, mirror images of the real one save for the motion.

Lowering the wolf carefully to the ground, Keith laughs, light and easy, completely unaware of how Shiro’s heart continues to forget itself. He pets Kosmo on the head, gives his left ear a gentle ruffle, then straightens himself up with a tug on his sweatshirt. “I’m going to put this stuff away and shower. I’ll be at the back shrine in an hour if that’s okay?”

Tex reaches up to scratch at the back of his head. “That should be okay. Everything is pretty much set for it.”

_It._

Shiro knows of the ritual, though he’s never been present for one. Not a modern one, at least. He knows that Keith comes out smelling a little bit different after it, and it’s not just the oils and incense used to purify skin and soul. He smells cleaner, like an untainted brook in the forest. Something of the woods itself with that first touch of spring to the leaves. He does it every time he returns from the city. Shiro has never asked about it, but he believes it has something to do with reconnecting with the shrine. 

The way Keith smells, though. . .it’s an undeniable lure. He already expects to see more foxes over the coming weeks, each of them drawn by that same pull on their senses. A scent tied to Keith’s power. Maybe that’s what it is — Keith in his rawest, most honest form. Existing in two worlds at once, while never losing himself to either. It’s an attractive thing to his kind, that sort of power. 

Keith lingers for a moment longer, his gaze reluctantly trailing from Shiro to the back area of the shrine where several other buildings sit, each just as perfectly attended to as the main shrine. His lips part, but he seems to second guess his intentions and merely smiles before returning to where he had dropped his duffle bag. Kosmo follows him, panting happily. 

The only thing Shiro can do is watch him go. A part of him wishes he could follow as easily as Kosmo does, that he had agreed to bind himself to Keith all those years ago. If he had done that, then there would have been nothing unknown between them. For a _kitsune_ with his abilities, the age behind him granting him a power most foxes rarely attain, had he bound himself to a _kitsune-tsukai_ of Keith’s potential, they would have been as one, completely unstoppable.

If Keith thought it, Shiro could act upon it. If Shiro felt it, Keith could react to it. As things are now, there’s no way he could participate in such a binding ritual. 

“I imagine he still has things left to do in Tokyo before he starts settling in back here.”

Shiro doesn’t look over at Tex right away. Instead, his eyes continue to trace the line Keith had walked. Even in the sunlight, he can still make out the faint glow of the imprints Keith’s steps had left upon the ground. A soft purplish hue that always felt like a perfect complement to the color of his foxfire. On most days, it burned the usual bright blue, but when he _really_ meant to use it? It flared a brilliant silvery-black.

_"It’s like you melted down the night sky and made it yours,”_ Keith had said. 

He hasn’t forgotten the awe in Keith’s voice back then. 

“There are a few things left. The lease on the apartment will be up at the end of summer.”

“Should I rent a car or something for him then?”

Shiro shakes his head. He finally looks over at Tex. “Keith was talking about hiring movers for the furniture. He thinks the house could use some of the updated pieces.”

“That so?” Tex says, his mouth pulling into a smile. “Not sure how his mother might feel about that. I thought she’d take for the woods, and I’d never see her again after she saw those last pictures.”

“I’d like to say he has no decorative sense, but that apartment is like an ode to his defiance.”

“Oh?”

“Some kid in his class made a few comments on it. While most others might have tried to work on making things fit in better. . .”

“Keith just went on plowing ahead in his own way,” Tex finishes up with a laugh. 

Shiro laughs as well, the sound quiet but rich with his amusement. He shifts his gaze back to the building Keith had entered until the laughter falls to silence on his tongue. 

“You like him.”

“I. . .” Shiro jerks his head to the left and fixes his eyes on Tex. He licks his lips, and despite his best efforts, his ears pop back into being on top of his head. “I’m sorry — what?”

“You heard me, Shiro. And before you even think about explaining that away, I’m gonna tell you that I’ve been married long enough to know what a fox in love looks like. You’re not fooling me.” Tex clears his throat, his gaze unwavering. His eyes are a deep brown, completely unlike Keith’s, but they showcase emotion in the same manner. Far too openly when standing beside Shiro. “You should think about what you honestly want. That boy is going to be around a lot longer than most. . .and who knows about after that. The gods already seem to favor him.”

Shiro swallows down his words, hoping they don’t betray him before he can bury them entirely. He knows what he wants to say to that, those stupidly honest words that would unravel all the armor around his heart and finally let it beat properly again, but Shiro can’t bring himself to say them. So, he nods his head and looks back at the closed door leading into the house. He can still make out the sounds of Kosmo woofing, likely as he stands outside the bathroom. The water is running. Shiro tries not to think about what is standing underneath the spill of it.

“His mother refused to be my familiar too,” Tex continues when Shiro fails to reply. His voice is soft, comforting, full of an understanding Shiro wishes he didn’t have, and yet is grateful he does. 

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” Shiro says. The words feel like cracked glass in his throat, like his voice might shatter at any moment. 

“Probably not too far off from your own.”

Before Shiro can reply, Tex walks off toward the building he had emerged from. He grabs the broom he had left behind and begins sweeping around the porch again, whistling a song Shiro can only vaguely recognize.

*

Keith emerges from the house an hour later. His hair is still slightly damp, and even standing at the opposite end of the courtyard, Shiro can catch the faint scent of his shampoo. Juniper berry and cedar. He’s dressed in a white silk yukata, the material thin and clearly not meant for daily wear. A smoke-like effect seems to drift across the fabric as he moves under a patch of sunlight. Along the hem, white foxes chase one another, their nine-tails waving behind them. The pattern is so subtle that most tended to miss it, but Shiro sees it, the faint shift in the hue unmistakable to him.

He makes no move to walk over to Keith, and Keith only glances back at him before he returns to talking with his father. Seeing them standing together like that, Shiro is again reminded of just how tall Keith has gotten. He stands equal with Tex, taller than his mother now. Keith had only glimpsed her once from afar. She had been sitting on one of the stone benches scattered around the shrine as he had raced through the woods. 

Krolia.

That’s what Keith had called her. But like most interactions between their kind, that was about as in-depth as it got for Shiro. A mere passing in time, a brief recognition of another _kitsune_ , and nothing more. Foxes like him only congregated in larger groups when some impending calamity demanded their combined efforts or as the familiar of a fox-witch, a _kitsune-tsukai_. Since supernatural disasters are fewer in this age, and he belonged to no one, running across someone else like him tends to be a bit of a rarity. He wonders if Krolia might be around more often now that Keith is going to start training to take over the shrine's ‘other’ duties. 

Keith starts to move then. Not toward Shiro, but to the back of the shrine, where a small building sits isolated from the rest. Despite being apart from the others on the shrine grounds, it doesn’t carry a feeling of loneliness, but rather, of great spiritual importance — something to be revered and not mindlessly trespassed upon. Visitors often skirted around its perimeter, though the locals were more inclined to leave offerings on its porch. Shiro knows that aside from a small entry room, with an altar well-tended and often dressed with fresh pine branches, there’s a stairway that leads down to a much larger room. In there, supposedly, is a pool of fresh spring water. Keith won’t emerge from that place until late tonight. Not until the gods are satisfied and the night air has gone cold and clear. 

Kosmo bounds behind Keith, an energy in his steps that almost makes Shiro envious. He pulls his gaze from Keith’s retreating figure and starts walking toward the packed-dirt path on the left side of the shrine. It weaves its way through the woods, going about halfway down the hill before forking: one road working deeper into the forest where another smaller shrine sits dedicated to the fox messengers. while the other leads out to the base of the hill. 

As Shiro moves into the shade of the trees, he sheds his human form until he has four white paws on the ground and a black nose tipped to the wind. 

The old woman is working today. 

He begins trotting, only a single white tail flagging behind him. The other eight are tucked within its shadow. There have been times when he’s suspected Hunk’s grandmother of catching sight of them as they occasionally peek out from the darkness he’s hidden them within. But it’s like that with the elderly and the young. The humans, at least, whose senses seem to dull as they enter adulthood, and only when Death reminds them of their mortality do they remember there is more to this world than the workings of mankind. 

Somewhere behind him, he catches the sound of a door closing. A pause takes his right forelimb, delaying its placement on the ground. Then, he shakes his head and pushes forward down the path, bypassing the split that would take him deeper into the woods. There are better places to kill an afternoon. 

If only a bellyful of fried tofu would fill the halls of his chest, where Tex’s words keeping echoing in his heart.

*

When Shiro returns to the shrine, the moon hangs low and full in the sky. A fox’s moon. Perfect to see by, perfect for slipping into the other world. His own world. He had considered it as he moved through the forest, his stomach warm with the old woman’s food and well-wishes, and his head cluttered with too many thoughts to untangle.

But, inevitably, he found himself heading back to the shrine as if drawn there by some pole star. The only place he’s ever wanted to call home. He hasn’t slipped out of his fox-form yet. Rather, he pads onto the shrine grounds from the opposite side he had left it, silently moving around the trees until his paws touch the cool stones that designate the far edges of the perimeter. He can tell Keith is outside, that Kosmo is asleep on the porch, and that Tex has made himself a cup of chamomile tea and is sitting under a kotatsu with some variety show playing on the television. 

Shiro doesn’t take to the main pathways but lingers in the shadows of the buildings as he draws closer to where Keith is. He sees him, standing in the middle of the central courtyard, his hands tucked into the pouch of his sweatshirt. The fabric is a vivid red, as bright as the spider lilies that flourish in the _yokai_ world’s vast fields. Shiro recognizes it as one of Keith’s favorite clothing items. He always wears it when he starts to feel a little lost. 

And looking at him standing there beneath the moonlight now. . .he looks like a fallen star, earthbound and staring up at the sky, still entirely unaware of just how brilliantly he burns. 

Shiro takes a step forward. Keith tips his head.

“Shiro?”

Still keeping his fox’s form, he steps out of the shadows and hops onto the closest bench. Several of them line the inner courtyard, offering any number of resting places for those seeking help or simply a moment of peace. Keith stares at him, and with each passing second, his expression starts to soften. 

Relieved.

The fact that Shiro can see that so plainly makes him ache terribly. As though someone had stuffed his heart into a bag and was slowly suffocating the feelings out of it, yet all it was doing was condensing down those feelings into one metal ball of hurt. A bullet of pain lodged inside of him. 

All nine tails fan out behind him. Keith sucks in a breath. He looks like he wants to move over to where Shiro sits, his arms twitching with intention, but he catches himself at the last minute. The tip of his sneaker catches in the crushed pebbles of the walkway. 

A whine slips out of Shiro. He hadn’t meant for it, but there it is. And with it, all of Keith’s resolve dies. He rushes over to Shiro and wraps his arms around him tightly. 

“It’s good to have you back, Shiro,” Keith whispers into his fur. Shiro lets out another whine, all nine tails wagging behind him. Keith hugs him tighter still, burying his face into Shiro’s neck. For a moment, Shiro hesitates. He remains sitting on the bench, his head nestled in Keith’s arms, and sinks into the warmth of Keith pressed against him. 

A slight tremble works through Keith, and Shiro whines again. Keith shakes his head and hides his face against Shiro’s neck. 

Something is wrong. 

He can smell the relief coming off in waves from Keith, but underneath that, there’s fear. A solid, cold sort of fear that Shiro wants nothing more than to dissolve into water and watch sink into the ground beneath him where the earth can break it down and repurpose it into something better. Without warning, he shifts into his human form. His arms immediately wrap around Keith, pulling him down into his lap. 

“What’s wrong?”

Sometimes, there are things he has to give voice to, even if it terrified him to do so. 

Keith shakes his head again. 

“You can tell me, Keith. I’m right here.”

Keith’s fingers curl into the leather of his jacket, crushing it in their hold. “I lost you on a night like this.”

_That._

“Have you been out here waiting all this time?”

He feels Keith nodding, strands of his hair brushing along Shiro’s neck. Keith says nothing, though. He just sits there, curled up on Shiro’s lap, the fear slowly subsiding from him. 

“You didn’t lose me, Keith. That was. . .” What was it? He could barely remember it all himself, being pulled back into the _yokai_ world against his wishes, a curse he had thought broken trying to claim him again. Shiro turns his head and breathes in deeply of Keith’s scent. He still smells like his shampoo, but there’s crushed pine needles adding to the earthiness of it now, and a clean crystalline scent like a river stream flooded with newly melted snow. “You didn’t do anything. That was something between me and that world.”

“Is that why you won’t be my familiar?” Keith asks, his voice small and heart-crushingly fragile. As if Shiro had just launched accusations at him, and Keith knew he had nothing to defend himself with. Only a hope that would never be realized. 

“No! That’s not —” Shiro blurts out before catching himself. 

The sharpness of his tone startles Keith. He pulls back, arms now wrapped loosely around Shiro’s neck, and stares wide-eyed at him.

He looks beautiful. That’s all Shiro can think, staring into the honest reaction facing him.

Not allowing himself to think any further, he reaches up to cup the back of Keith’s head and leans in. As his lips brush against Keith’s, he’s surprised to find his own being crushed suddenly in return. 

Keith is. . .kissing him. 

Shiro lets out another whine, something part-human, part-fox, all desperation. His lips part. Keith sighs into his mouth. 

“I can’t be your familiar,” Shiro murmurs against Keith’s lips, his eyes shifting upward to catch Keith’s gaze. “But I can be yours.”

The reply he gets is enough to make his heart soar. Keith smiles, bright and gorgeous. Happiness stripped down to its golden core. He kisses Keith again, softer this time, and finds himself incapable of keeping his first tail from popping out and wagging vigorously behind him. 

“Be mine,” Keith whispers into his ear. “And I’ll be yours.”

His voice, those words, all of it sends a shiver cascading down Shiro’s spine. Shiro nods. He used to dream of something like this, of finding someone who wanted him more than simply owning him and all he could do. Tipping his head, he brushes a kiss to the underside of Keith’s chin.

“Forever.”

“And always, Shiro.”


	3. Epilogue

“How do I look?” 

“Happy.”

Shiro doesn’t know how to respond to that, but Krolia smiles gently at him as she pats his arm. She moves behind him, as silent as he’s come to know her to be, and starts to gather his hair in her hands. Her fingers are considerate in their movements as they sift through the white strands. 

“Keith looked happy, too, when I saw him earlier.”

His heart stops at the mention of Keith. A faint flush takes his cheeks. Shiro clears his throat, though he’s careful not to move his head. Behind him, Krolia continues to collect his hair. He thought about cutting it, but Keith had insisted on leaving it until the day was over. Unable to deny him that, Shiro had left it as it was, long enough to touch between his shoulder blades. 

“It was a little strange not to see him this morning,” Shiro replies quietly. 

Krolia chuckles, the sound reminding him of Keith. Easy and honest. “That’s how these things go. Besides, you’ll be seeing plenty of him after this. Now, hold still for a moment. I’m almost finished.”

He feels a faint tug on his hair. His right ear tips back, drinking in the near-imperceptible sound of a ribbon being tugged from around Krolia’s wrist. It’s black silk. To match his kimono. She ties it just as gently as she had gathered his hair, but Shiro feels no give to it as she pulls her hand away. A knot solidly made, and knowing her, unlikely to unravel during the ceremony. 

“Why do you look so surprised?” Krolia asks. 

She doesn’t seem particularly put out by whatever expression he must be making, but she stands there, with her head tilted to the right, her ears pricked forward. Under the fading sun, her reddish fur burns like newly sparked flames. 

Shiro scratches at his cheek. A sheepish smile threatens to curve his lips. “Would it be weird if I said I still can’t believe he said yes?”

She blinks at him, then bursts into laughter. Loud, unabashed laughter. It’s about as rarely heard as a spider’s secret, but it reminds him so much of Keith that Shiro feels his heart ache for the man. 

“Did you really think he wouldn’t?” Krolia takes a step back, her laughter just a whisper on the wind now, and studies him in earnest. “There’s not a fox who’s stepped foot in this shrine who could even conceive of that boy saying no to you, Shiro.”

“He has a stubborn streak, you know,” Shiro mutters, feeling his cheeks grow hotter. 

“I guess you could say he’s stubbornly in love with you.” Krolia has that fox’s grin across her face. The one made from sly intentions and casual trickery. 

His ears flatten against his head as he sighs out. She’s as beautiful as Keith, and he can completely understand why Tex would have fallen for her. The greater mystery is why she chose a human mate out of all that would have been available to her. Not that he has much room to talk. 

Blue fire suddenly erupts all around them. The forest comes alive with it, ghost lights chasing away shadows yet still capable of instilling fear in human hearts. That’s how all the stories go, isn’t it? Tonight, however, they herald the arrival of a captured heart. 

“Shiro?”

The familiar voice sets his tails wagging. Before he can turn around, however, Krolia steps in front of him, her arms folded across her chest. “Keith, I thought we agreed about this. . .” 

While her tone carries all the disapproval expected, her ears remain relaxed. Her tail does give a mildly irritated swish, however. One that barely seems to deter Keith.

“I couldn’t wait,” Keith states. 

Should he say something? Would that be appropriate? In all his centuries of living, he hasn’t actually been a part of one of these affairs.

“There’s no weird rule or anything about it,” Keith continues. “I looked into it, and Dad said it’s just some weird superstition. Besides, Shiro kept his end of the bargain. I’m the one breaking it. . .”

Keith sounds far too proud of that fact, and Shiro can easily imagine him standing there, his arms folded across his chest, mirroring his mother exactly. His chin would jut out slightly while his eyes blazed with his every intent to battle this out. 

To his surprise, Krolia backs down. He hears it in the faint huff that leaves her lips, more laugh than a sigh. She must be shaking her head because Shiro picks up the faint tinkling of bells.

“Don’t be late up there,” she warns him. “Some things _are_ important with these ceremonies, Keith.”

With that last warning, she turns and begins walking off toward the woods. Shiro knows she’ll take the path that leads deeper into the forest. The one lined with red _torii_ gates and ending at the small shrine dedicated to their kind. 

For now though. . .

“Hey, Shiro. . .”

He turns then, feeling almost guilty for doing so, and looks over at Keith. Any guilt that may have tried to define this moment meets a quick and painless end at the sight of him. Shiro breathes in deeply, trying to memorize it all. The way Keith stands there beneath the setting sun. The garden lights strung up around the shrine’s inner courtyard, flickering like firelights at the height of summer. All the foxfire burning blue around the woods, guiding them toward the small shrine in the woods. 

Keith is dressed in a black kimono as well. His hair had been recently cut, but the strands were still long enough to curl down into his eyes. He reaches up to sweep his bangs back. A futile effort but beautiful nonetheless. 

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro answers, his entire heart in those two simple words. 

And that’s all Keith needs. He takes a running start, then leaps at Shiro. Trusting fully that he’ll be caught. 

“Marry me,” he whispers against Shiro’s lips. 

The smile Keith’s mouth forms is readily felt, along with all its joy, and Shiro can’t help but smile back. 

“That’s exactly what I plan to do tonight.”


End file.
